


put you on something new

by howdoyousleep, the1918



Series: Frat Steve and Lucky Bucky [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ass Play (light), Bi-Curiosity, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, First Time Blow Jobs, Frat Boy Steve Rogers, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, Jock Bucky Barnes, Light Feminization, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, References to Homophobia, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin but he is Gonna Learn Somethin' Tonight, no one ever told steve that bisexuality is an option
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24293884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howdoyousleep/pseuds/howdoyousleep, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the1918/pseuds/the1918
Summary: “What? Y’never suck a dick before, Rogers?”Steve can’t even stop the hysterical bubble of overcompensated laughter that escapes out his open mouth. It’s loud and such an extreme reaction that Steve can’t take back, makes his cheeks heat right back up. He shuffles on his feet, bounces on the balls of them a few times, has another round of giggles as he chugs the rest of his beer.“N-nah, I...fuck, yeah no I haven’t really—”---Steve's fraternity throws a kegger. The star of the football team shows up.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Frat Steve and Lucky Bucky [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776313
Comments: 180
Kudos: 1010





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This silly little AU was born as a collaboration on tumblr, and we wanted to share it with you here. 
> 
> For optional visuals and additional tidbits about Theta Phi Junior Class President Steve Rogers and "Lucky Bucky" Barnes, see [this post](https://the1918.tumblr.com/post/617787048021082112/put-you-on-something-new-the-fratsteve-x).

Steve feels like he’s riding the highest of highs.

It’s a high that’s got him high-fiving random people, smacking others on the shoulder. It’s a high that has him turning his hat around backwards without even realizing it. It’s a high like he’d felt watching the conference championship game last year when their team caught a game-winning interception in double overtime. Every other noise out of his mouth is some sort of chuckle and there’s nothing stopping them, not when “Lucky Bucky” Barnes is his beer pong partner and _definitely_ not when they just fucking crushed their competition and came out on top in the tournament.

Adding to his hype is the fact that _Steve’s_ the one who put together this whole fucking kegger and tournament together, and he’s damn near certain his name should go up in the Theta Phi Hall of Fame for this night alone.

When Clint had come by in French class on Thursday and told him that _the_ Lucky Bucky — shining star of State’s football team — was planning to stop by their frat’s party Steve had damn near fallen out of his chair.

_“If you’re fuckin’ with me I swear to—”_

_“No, dude I’m so serious. He asked me for a pencil in Stats and then saw my Theta hat and was like, ‘Heard about your party, sounds killer. Maybe I’ll come by.’ Bro..._ bro _. Lucky fucking_ Bucky _might come to the party on Saturday. Rogers, if—!”_

_“Yeah, Barton shit I know, shit!”_

“Lucky Bucky” Barnes _—_ the star cornerback of their school’s football team _—_ had been famously in the right place at the right time during the first ever game he started, when he recovered a red zone fumble in the last ten seconds of the fourth quarter and ran it 80 yards for a touchdown, winning the game 24-21.

And he was coming to _Steve’s kegger._

The pressure had been on. Steve was a natural at throwing parties, knew the exact number of kegs needed for the approximate number of people expected. He knew how to delegate, knew how to keep the alcohol flowing, knew how to ensure people had a safe and fun time. He had not once felt the pressure of throwing a kegger until he heard Lucky Bucky had expressed even the slightest interest in showing up to one.

This had to be the _best_ fucking party, needed to go down in history, to be talked about for years to come. And all of that had rested on Steve’s shoulders.

Good thing Steve’s shoulders are jacked as shit and he can bench a solid 240 pounds, metaphorical or not.

Steve had been kind of worried that Bucky would be a pompous dick, that he’d leave their party early or shit talk it on the way out, and that wasn’t something Steve needed. But as soon as Bucky had arrived with his own tight crew, greeted Steve with a handshake and pulled him in close and tight for a bro hug, it had suddenly felt like everything was going to work out just fine.

Steve has to ensure everything is just that though, is _fine_ , so he’d taken it upon himself to be the one to give Bucky a tour, to make sure Bucky always had fresh jungle juice in his hand, to make sure he’s not bombarded and cornered by star-struck freshmen. Bucky is surprisingly kind, exudes confidence and smoothness and natural energy, giving randos high-fives and laughing at their stories and recapping memories he’s somehow involved in even though he just met these people. Steve gets along with Bucky well, or at least wants to think he does.

Because this is _the_ Lucky Bucky, the very same that has throttled the ass of every wide receiver he’s ever come across since the day he started playing football, is the reason behind some of Steve’s most hyped college memories. Bucky can get test answers from anyone if he wants to, can get professors to up his grade with one smile, can get all the pussy he wants with just one wink. To say that Steve is envious of Bucky is an understatement, but to say that this night and winning a beer pong tournament with _Lucky Bucky_ has been the highlight of his young life is not an exaggeration.

“Damn, you throw a kick-ass party, Steve,” Bucky says as he takes the fresh beer that Steve offers, the two of them taking a step outside to cool off.

Steve’s never gotten a better compliment, can’t stop from reaching out and squeezing at Bucky’s shoulder, can’t stop his, “ _Shit,_ thanks, man.”

The cool breeze feels amazing on his cheeks, sobers him up a little after a night of chugging the good victory beers, which taste infinitely better than the Coors Light in cheap solo cups.

“M’glad you showed up, wasn’t sure if you would or not,” Steve says before he can stop himself, must be a little tipsier than he thought he was if it’s got him opening his mouth in such a way. Bucky smiles, lets out a little laugh before bringing his cup up to his lips to take a drink. Steve finds himself watching the way Bucky’s throat moves as he drinks, the way his lips look a little slick when he pulls his cup away from them. Yeah, Steve’s definitely tipsy.

“Yeah, I’m glad too. The guys have been talking about these parties for a while, figured I’d come check it out myself now that the season is over.”

Steve will never feel as good as he does in this moment ever again in his life. Even if Natasha Romanoff showed up, the one chick he’s never been able to get into bed with him, and showed him her tits that still would not top how he feels in this moment.

Maybe Bucky would come back another time. Hell, maybe Bucky would want to hang out sometimes outside of a party such as this. That would be dope, would give Steve insane clout, would give him unfathomable access to girls and booze and the most incredible college experience he could ask for.

He’s gotta get Bucky’s number. So they can hang. Like bros.

Bucky’s hair looks nice, long enough to be thrown up into a bun, one he tousled together after Round 2 of the tournament. Should he grow his hair out? Would more girls dig him more? Would Bucky want to hang out with him if he had soft hair like that? Steve should grow his hair out.

“Bruh, is that _Lucky Bucky_?”

Steve has a love-hate relationship with freshmen. He loves their pledges, enjoys that sense of mentorship that the fraternity provides him as a junior, but he hates how fucking stupid they can be sometimes. Steve’s always saying, “Just use your fuckin’ brain!”, wishing he could maybe smack them on the side of the head and this is one of those times. He’s about to step between the few guys encroaching on Bucky when the brunette is the one that speaks first.

“Hey, Parker…how you doin’, baby?”

Steve knows he’s tipsy, but now he thinks he must be smashed out of his mind. That’s the only thing that could explain the onslaught of confusion he experiences at far too rapid of a pace. He doesn’t miss the way Peter Parker’s head ducks with a blush, doesn’t miss the way Bucky licks his lip a little, smirks into the movement. Steve knows that look, knows that tone of voice; it’s the only thing that got Sharon Carter into bed with him.

Parker stands at the back of the small group, nods dumbly in Bucky’s direction, doesn’t look up from the ground whatsoever. Steve’s never seen Parker so flustered, Steve always having to tell him to shut the hell up during meetings, and what the fuck is happening? The freshman mumbles something Steve misses and that’s probably because his head snapped in the direction of Bucky as soon as he heard the guy purr out “baby” at a frat dude.

No one but Steve seems to notice the odd tension of the moment, of Bucky’s forwardness. Words are exchanged as well as some high-fives, but Steve isn’t listening to what transpires. He can’t stop replaying _how you doin’, baby_ in his head, can’t stop seeing that smirk, can’t stop watching Bucky’s mouth as he talks.

Plenty of dudes call other guys “baby”; that’s not weird. It’s not. And Steve isn’t a part of any sports teams aside from the flag football and disc golf groups they set up randomly throughout the year so who knows what goes on in the locker room or behind the scenes. _Baby_ isn’t weird, Steve decides that in the moment, but what is weird is the way it sounded coming out of Bucky’s mouth.

What’s really weird is the way Steve is _reacting_ to the way it sounded coming out of Bucky’s mouth. The way his stomach turns and the way he feels his chest heave in order to take a steady breath or two, the way his palms feel clammy.

The small group walks away then, some stumbling and more whispered hype, and Steve makes a mental note to figure out what the fuck was up with the moment he just witnessed by asking Peter later.

“Kid sucked my dick in the showers last week. S’got a pretty mouth, had a lot of enthusiasm, wanted to swallow and everything”

_Fuck._

Bucky just... _says it_. He just casually comes out and tells Steve, a dude he just met hours before, that another guy sucked him off in the showers. A guy. A guy gave Bucky a blowjob. _Parker_ gave Lucky Bucky a suckjob in the shower. Steve is pretty sure he stands there like an idiot with his mouth open, gaping like a fish, and when Bucky looks over at him and laughs his transparency is confirmed.

“What? Y’never suck a dick before, Rogers?”

Steve can’t even stop the hysterical bubble of overcompensated laughter that escapes out his open mouth. It’s loud and such an extreme reaction that Steve can’t take back, makes his cheeks heat right back up. He shuffles on his feet, bounces on the balls of them a few times, has another round of giggles as he chugs the rest of his beer.

“N-nah, I... _fuck,_ yeah no I haven’t really—” Bucky saves him from this embarrassing shit storm of a spectacle but it doesn’t make Steve feel any more relieved.

“No shit? With lips like those?” Bucky looks genuinely surprised but then his face morphs into something almost predatory, all teeth and glee and _plans._ “Well, that’s a goddamn cryin’ shame…”

Steve is.

Steve is frozen.

He is objectively aware that he’s still breathing but doesn’t totally remember what lungs are. He knows he’s staring. He knows that Bucky’s eyes are a grayer blue than his own because they’re all Steve can look at, knows that those same eyes are gleaming with mirth more and more by the second.

Steve is frozen because Steve has lips that are apparently suitable for sucking dicks. Preferable, even, for sucking dicks. He knows this, because a future NFL first-round draft pick just told him as much.

And then a few seconds or weeks or something of the like pass by in silence and locked stares before Bucky breaks out in a fit of deep laughter. He throws his head back and his eyes crinkle at the edges, and even though Steve still feels like a deer in headlights he finds himself smiling, too, like a mirror that can’t help but reflect what’s in front of him.

“You’re something else, punk,” Bucky says, shaking his head with a chuckle.

Bucky looks into his near-empty cup before tossing back the last of the contents, stubbled neck exposed, and Steve’s brain is like a circuit board underwater. Bucky swallows and smiles, chucks the red plastic cup into a nearby trash can before slinging his arm around Steve’s shoulders like it’s something they do all the time. Before Steve can even react to the gesture, Bucky raises up his free hand, slides the index finger under Steve’s chin, using the leverage to tilt Steve’s face up half an inch. He does all of it like it’s the most casual thing in the world. It makes Steve’s spine melt like an ice cube.

“Relax, Rogers. Let’s get back to your party.”

***

They do return inside, and Steve spends the next hour in a near catatonic state. Bucky separates from Steve but never strays very far, always in the same room, always within eyesight. Steve watches as Bucky falls back into all the easy conversation he’s demonstrated all night long, and Steve makes himself return to some half-assed version of his regular kegger hosting duties. He throws out a couple of Pi Kapps that aren’t supposed to be there. He yells at Tony for [Iron-Man’ing](https://archive.totalfratmove.com/the-frat-dictionary/) Rhodey for the second time that semester because “tin foil ain’t as cheap as you little rich boys think it is, dumbass.”

But Steve’s attention is never on any one thing for too long, because Bucky’s eyes are on him. Bucky’s eyes are on _him_. From his place across the room Steve watches someone hand Bucky a bottle of the good craft beer and Bucky takes it with a charming smile, and then Bucky’s nodding and chatting but he’s looking over his companion’s shoulder until he’s staring right at Steve. Steve looks back.

Bucky’s lips wrap around the neck of the bottle. He swallows a healthy gulp, and his throat bobs with it. Steve watches. Bucky winks. Steve likes pussy and lipstick and big tits. His feet trip over absolutely nothing.

Steve’s night doesn’t get any less confusing after that. He always makes a point to never get completely smashed at his own keggers, but tonight he finds himself maintaining nothing more than an even buzz. He doesn’t feel the usual need to constantly heft a drink up to his mouth, to imbibe and numb his mind to anything but fun. But he does find that he feels drunk in a completely different way, knows it’s not from cheap alcohol but from the weight of Bucky’s attention. Steve certainly does _stumble like he’s drunk_ when Bucky comes up behind him and cups a warm hand at the back of his neck as he’s passing by, on his way to the bathroom.

He’s so caught up in living his bizarre new reality that Steve is floored when he looks at his phone to find that it’s already one in the morning. The party is by no means over but it’s definitely winding down, so it’s no surprise when he sees Bucky’s crew start to group up again and pat each other’s shoulders, obvious exchanges of ‘you ready to roll?’ passing between them. Steve’s stomach sinks with an explicable volume of disappointment.

And it’s like Bucky must sense what Steve’s feeling, because when he walks over to Steve to say his goodbye he’s got this look on his face that could almost be apologetic, if not for the odd twinkle in his eye.

“Stevie,” he drawls. His voice is deeper and throatier than it had been early in the night. “I know I said it before, but you throw a hell of a kegger, punk.”

Before Steve can respond Bucky throws an arm around his shoulders, for the second time that night. He does it exactly like he had earlier on the porch, right after he had ruined Steve’s life with the news that Steve’s got lips made to slide a dick between.

“Yeah, uh. Thanks, man.” Steve can feel the absolute meatball expression on his own face.

Bucky doesn’t take his arm away like Steve expects. He tightens it instead, bringing Steve’s body in closer, and Steve falls into it easily. Bucky acts like they’re the only two people in the room when he moves his lips in until they’re just inches away from Steve’s ear.

“Really, though. I had a real fucking good time tonight.” Steve can’t see Bucky’s face from this angle but he can feel the breath against his cheek, the way it clearly takes on the shape of Bucky’s smile. “I seen you been quiet for a while. Gettin’ sleepy?”

Steve laughs nervously, shakes his head. “Nah, just—” He hiccups, for some ungodly reason. “Opposite, actually. Never can sleep after these things. Probably gonna go upstairs soon and light a spliff just so I can shut my eyes.”

At that Bucky makes a low, interested noise into his ear before pulling back a little, leaving the hand on Steve’s shoulder but moving so he can face him. His left eyebrow has an astoundingly charismatic arch to it.

“That so, Stevie?” he says. Steve starts to wonder if it’s possible to die from a nickname. “Don’t suppose you’d wanna share some of that bud, would’ya?”

The hand on Steve’s shoulder squeezes down on his flesh for one full second longer than meets the definition of a regulation Bro Squeeze. Bucky’s lips are tilted sideways into a smile that says that he wasn’t actually asking Steve a question. Steve’s brain feels like it’s lagging behind reality in a way that makes him think he might already be high.

“Uh, sure— for sure, yeah. Bro.” Steve’s mouth is so, so dry that when Bucky licks his own spit-slick lips it feels like he’s just bragging. “Come on up, if you wanna. S’ plenty.”

Bucky’s half-grin grows. It splits his face. The hand on Steve’s shoulder falls away and brushes against the entire plane of his bicep and forearm on the way down.

“Yo, Dum-Dum!” Bucky hollers back towards the door. He turns his head to get his crew’s attention. “You guys head on out.”

A couple of ‘o-kay’ hand signs are thrown their direction and the front door is opened, the entourage that Bucky had arrived with hours ago shuffling out.

When Bucky turns back to Steve his blue-gray eyes look darker than before. His lashes are lower. Steve feels like he’s about to be told a secret, something that Bucky didn’t want to say until there were fewer eyes on them. The points of Bucky’s canines look sharp when he smiles.

“Lead the way, Stevie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come see our work on tumblr! [@the1918](https://the1918.tumblr.com/) and [@howdoyousleep3](https://howdoyousleep3.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

Steve tries his hardest to act as natural as possible as he opens his bedroom door and welcomes Bucky into his _bedroom. His bedroom._ The place he sleeps and does his homework and totally fucks chicks in. Yes. Chicks.

But Bucky’s here now and Steve feels like this is a momentous occasion but has yet to figure out why.

He knows he hasn’t smoked yet, knows his buzz trickled off more than an hour ago, so maybe he’s dreaming as Lucky Bucky walks into his room and takes a look around. Steve is a clean person, even living amongst the chaos and filth that is a fraternity, but he’s self-conscious about literally everything in his room as he watches Bucky’s eyes scan each wall.

“You get a room all to yourself, Rogers?” Bucky asks and it’s even more startling to hear Bucky’s smooth voice bounce off the walls of his own room. Bucky’s in his room.

“Uhh, yeah yeah I get one as Class President and as a junior,” he explains with a nod as he closes his door, makes his way to his desk drawer, _his stash_. He doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t know if he should fill the empty silence with any more chatter or if him getting out a joint is an acceptable filler.

“You got it made don’t, don’t ya, guy?” Bucky chuckles and when Steve turns to laugh with him he sees that the brunette is slipping his shoes off likes it’s the nth time he has done this and climbs into his bed in the same manner. Thank fuck Steve made his bed this morning because he isn’t sure he could handle the image of Bucky crawling into his unkept bed for fear of...for fear of…

“This okay?” Bucky asks as he crosses one thick thigh over the other, getting comfortable and leans back against the wall his bed rests against even before Steve says anything. The question is broad, leaves Steve standing at his desk with a lighter in his hand answering, “Yes. _Yeah,_ it’s...it’s all good,” while wondering what he even means by that. Steve doesn’t want to think anymore, avoids all thought and lights the joint.

Steve’s fingers tremble as he hands Bucky the joint, knows it’s pretty fucking obvious and that there’s nothing he can do about it. Maybe that’s why Bucky’s lips tug up at the corners as he takes it from Steve, holds it between his fingers for a second.  
  
“You sure you don’t want first go?” he asks Steve and he shakes his head, probably too many times, rubs his hands on his knees as he settles back into his bed, relishes in how the cool wall feels against the line of his back.  
  
“Nah, it’s all you, bro go ahead.”  
  
There are a thousand other places he can look all throughout the room: the TV that is lit up in the corner, the window where outside god only knows what is happening, the ceiling, the floor, his own fucking hands. None of them are what he actually ends up locking eyes on, which is Bucky Barnes’ fucking mouth.  
  
Steve doesn’t do a damn thing to stop himself either, gives himself this moment to look at Bucky, to _look at him,_ to watch his lips wrap around the end of the joint. He watches him inhale, wonders if he looks as hot as Lucky Bucky does when he smokes, wonders if people look at his lips as he does so.  
  
Bucky’s eyebrows raise as he lets the smoke linger in his lungs a little more, holds his breath some. When he exhales he tips his head back, directs the smoke upwards, and Steve finds his eyes falling to Bucky’s neck again, watches the way it works and moves under the light of his shitty desk lamp.  
  
“That’s good shit. Way better than what Pi Kappa had at their kegger last month. Shit was whack,” Bucky tells Steve casually as he settles back against the same wall Steve is leaning back on, settles into _Steve’s bed_ , his jacked form, arm and _thigh_ , rubbing up against Steve’s.

Just like the rest of the night, since the off-comment about his lips, this gesture and moment seem just as casual. While Bucky exudes confidence and moves with unwavering purpose Steve sits there feeling like he’s vibrating from the inside out, feeling like Bucky’s touch on his own body is an electric shock.  
  
No girl has ever made him feel this way.  
  
_What the fuck?_ Why did he just think that?  
  
Before he can panic again, Steve sees Bucky bring his hand up to his mouth, hears him inhale long and slow, but then—  
  
_Fuck,_ Bucky’s turning and tipping Steve’s chin up for the second time that night, and it’s happening for real this time, Bucky’s going to—  
  
Bucky’s lips are warm and slick and plush, and _they’re on Steve’s lips_ , Bucky’s lips are. They’re on Steve’s lips. Steve is immobilized, can’t do anything but make a stupid little _mphh,_ and Bucky is tilting his head to the side, a glide that makes Steve dick betray him and twitch in his jeans, makes him let out a small noise that he’s heard broads make before. Steve knows what is happening, knows that Bucky didn’t exhale before pressing his lips to Steve’s on purpose, but he can’t connect the dots in his mind.  
  
But Bucky is exhaling now, blowing the smoke from his mouth into Steve’s own, letting out a low rumble of a noise that has Steve’s insides tossing. Steve’s gasp is perfectly timed to inhale, a gasp in response to feeling Bucky’s capable hand cup his jaw.  
  
_Fuck.  
_  
Steve holds his breath, doesn’t move an inch because if he moves then it becomes something different, then this is _him_ kissing _Bucky_ , and that’s…  
  
That’s somethin’ entirely different.

Steve doesn’t know what to think about the way Bucky’s lips linger on his own, doesn’t know what to think about the way he pulls back just long enough to look up at Steve’s eyes. He definitely doesn’t fucking know what to think when Bucky comes _back in_ , presses one more hot kiss to his lips before settling back against the wall.

Steve needs ten more hits and needs them all to hit him right now, right fucking now. He sits there in sheer internal panic as Bucky inhales, holds it, tips his head up, and then exhales towards the ceiling. He sits there and acts like he didn’t just fucking kiss Steve, like their lips didn’t touch, like he didn’t make Steve _moan_ by doing so. Is Bucky hard right now like Steve is? Fuck, is Steve hard right now?

_Fuck! What the fuck!_

As soon as Bucky hands Steve the joint back, it’s between his lips, and he’s sucking that shit down and trying really _really_ hard to not think about how it’s touching his lips just like Bucky’s lips did. He takes two more hits and spends it thinking about how warm Bucky’s lips were, wonders how many other guys Bucky has kissed, wonders if Bucky will try and kiss him again. Was that technically a kiss? What does this mean about Steve now? Does he feel any different?

Bucky’s fingers on his wrist pull him out of his thoughts and he turns his head and _fuck,_ that’s a mistake because now he’s looking into Bucky’s eyes. Have they always been this close to each other? _Shit,_ Bucky’s eyes look killer in this lighting.

“What?” Steve says out loud to himself to his own internal thoughts but naturally Bucky thinks Steve is talking to him. The fingers on his wrist slides like fire to his fingers, pluck the joint from them.

“Nothin’. Just want another hit. You good, punk?” Bucky asks him, voice hitting his ears like velvet and he doesn’t even realize he’s staring at Bucky’s lips until he sees the football star smirk after he exhales. _Shit._

Shit has to be hitting him at least a little at this point because Steve hears himself murmur, “You gay or somethin’, Buck?” because that’s only the logical explanation for what has transpired over the past few hours, right?

Outside of tonight and outside of this context he knows he would be horrified by his forwardness, is sure he will be later when he thinks back on this moment. He also knows that probably any other time it would warrant him a black eye, knows Bucky could knock his head clean off, but Bucky surprisingly takes it in stride.

He giggles, a bubble of a noise, hands Steve the joint back, tilts his chin up to face him again.

“What? You think I’m gay because I shotgunned with you?”

 _Oh._ Well, that hits him like a slap, makes him flustered. Bucky kissed him. Right? Bucky put his lips on Steve’s and that constitutes a kiss. _Right_? His confusion must be transparent as all get out because he feels the puffs of air on his own lips as Bucky chuckles again, ignores the urge to lean forward and close the gap between them, because that would be super gay. Or...something?

“ _Oh, doll_ — you’re gonna learn tonight…”

Doll.

_Doll._

Body moving on autopilot, Steve brings the joint to his lips one more time. The cherry is bright and red, fluorescent, and Steve feels so very, _very_ unfocused right now and he knows it’s not just the weed but that’s definitely starting to hit him, too. It’s like his brain is both relaxed and in shock at the same time, and he almost coughs a little on the inhale. Bucky sees and lets out a charming (?!) chuckle.

Steve’s mind sets out to recap this particular episode of _The Twilight Zone_ that he’s currently living. First— “Lucky Bucky” Barnes is sitting on Steve’s bed. _Lucky Bucky_ is sitting on his bed and they’re smoking together and they just _shotgunned_ weed together, and Bucky just called Steve _‘doll’_ like it was totally just something guys called each other, like it was nothing to balk at all, and Steve probably _shouldn’t_ be balking at that particular item when he’s got so many other really significant things to, y’know. Balk at.

Like the fact that Bucky did very much just _kiss_ Steve not two minutes ago— even if Bucky had said it was _only_ shotgunning— or the fact that Bucky had told him only hours earlier that he had good lips for sucking dick, or the fact that Steve was apparently _gonna learn something tonight_ , and— _oh,_ okay _,_ the weed must _for real_ be hitting him now because those thoughts only make him scream into the internal void a very little bit.

“Jesus fucking _christ_ , Stevie,” Bucky laughs, breaking Steve’s daze. “Relax, would’ya?

Steve snaps himself out of it and looks down at the joint in his hand, shaking his head a little before deciding to lean over to the little ashtray on his nightstand, putting the roach to bed.

“Yeah, uh. Sorry. ‘S cool, bro. Probably just the reefer hittin’ me funny.”

He returns to his previous position leaning against the wall, this time a little further away from Bucky. The other man seems to notice the distance Steve puts between them and gives him a little look that says, _‘oh, really?’,_ before spreading his legs out more, keeping their thighs pressed together. They may be in Steve’s room, on Steve’s bed, smoking Steve’s weed— but that little action says to both of them that _Bucky’s_ the one in charge.

“Lemme ask you this, Stevie,” Bucky says, tilting his head. “You like fuckin’ pussy?”

“Yes,” Steve answers, automatic and quick, like it’s the single most important answer he’ll ever give. It doesn’t occur to him until multiple seconds later to be taken aback by the question.

“Yeah?” Bucky smiles, quirking one eyebrow, “well, there’s somethin’ we got in common, see? I like fucking ‘em, like gettin’ my fingers in there. Little bit’a tongue, you know.”

Steve nods, because really— despite how warm and hard and nice Bucky’s thigh feels against his— Steve _does_ actually like all of those things.

Bucky looks at him with a considering expression. “What’s your favorite part about it?”

Steve stares. His tongue feels numb.

“About…”

And okay, he _knows_ what Bucky means, and ‘locker room talk’ is one thing— dudes spittin’ bullshit at each other, bragging about their experiences with chicks— but it doesn’t usually involve a lot of… _adjectives_.

“Pussy,” Bucky answers.

Steve finds that he has to blurt out a dumb giggle at the word (does he, though?), because that’s apparently where he is now. It’s undeniable how much _better_ he’s feeling than before, easier, especially compared to when he was freaking out way back on the porch just because he has pretty, fat lips when _duh— Steve knows that already, he_ owns _a fucking mirror._

“I, uh,” he laughs, dumbly, “I guess I like how it feels, like. Wet?”

“A’course, a’course,” Bucky agrees, nodding. Someone’s pinky finger is stroking softly over the back of Steve’s hand. “Everyone likes gettin’ their dick wet. What else?”

Steve thinks, hard. Steve hates essay exams.

“Feels kinda, like, I dunno. Warm, and shit.”

“Hm, _yeah_ ,” Bucky hums, “kinda hot and soft, right?”

Steve nods back. Hot, soft.

“You like the way pussy feels when it’s draggin’ all up and down your cock?”

And woah, _shit—_ did that get graphic fast, and Steve can definitely feel his dick starting to chub up again the lewdness of it. He gulps.

“Yeah. I like it.”

He notices that Bucky’s head is getting closer when he nods back at Steve, agreeing. Well, Bucky’s head had at least _gotten_ closer, at some point, but Steve doesn’t really know when that happened, nor does he care. It means he can hear Bucky better, hear him when he says—

“You like the way it feels when you get a pussy that tightens up real nice on ya? Gives your dick a pretty _squeeze_?”

“Ungh,” Steve says, in answer. “Yeah. Yes.”

“Like fuckin’ ‘em _deep,_ don’cha?” Bucky’s voice has gotten so, _so_ raspy. “Makin’ ‘em take you real good?”

 _Fuck._ Yes, he does.

“Yes, I do.”

Fourteen inches, maybe twelve; that’s how far apart Steve thinks their faces are. Bucky goes quiet after Steve answers and they sort of just stare at each other for a while, but Steve’s honestly staring more at Bucky’s mouth than he is anywhere else, which is why he notices it when Bucky’s tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. Just looking at it makes Steve’s mouth go dry.

“Water,” Steve says, out of nowhere, but he means it as a question. “Want some?”

Bucky surveys Steve’s face curiously before giving him one, slow nod, and Steve stumbles his way off the bed to grab a couple of water bottles from his little mini-fridge. He breathes in deep while he’s there, trying to clear his head with air that he _isn’t_ sharing with Bucky’s lungs, but when he turns back to the bed he sees that Bucky has spread his legs out a little more. Okay— maybe a _lot_ more, and the way that he’s also now shifted and re-angled himself means that at least two-thirds of Steve’s tiny bed is now taken up by some part of Bucky’s big, athletic body.

Steve swallows audibly at the sight and he climbs back onto the mattress, accepting the fact that in order to fit at _all_ comfortably he’s going to have to either sit a lot closer to Bucky than he was before, or find a way to make his entire body smaller.

He goes with the first option.

Bucky thanks him for the water, and they take a moment to rehydrate. By the time Steve’s screwed the plastic cap back onto the bottle and set it aside, he’s noticed that he feels surprisingly comfortable with one thigh slung over Bucky’s knee, their forearms pressed together, hips touching. He’s still marveling at the fact that he’s not panicking about all this bro-on-bro contact when Bucky breaks the silence.

“Y’know,” he starts, and Steve notices that Bucky’s tone is less playful than it was before, “my old man used to always wanna talk to me about girls when I was in high school. He knew I was hot shit with the ladies, bein’ star of the team an’ all, and he was always askin’ me if I was gettin’ it in enough.” Bucky barks out a funny little half-laugh to himself, and Steve’s bud-addled brain giggles back for absolutely no reason at all. “Kinda creepy, now that I look back on it.”

They’re both leaning their heads against the wall, angling towards each other, and Steve can’t help but stare at all the little details about Bucky’s face as he talks. But this time, instead of staring back, the other man is looking off to the side of Steve’s head with glassy eyes, keeps on talking like he’s just thinking out loud at this point.

“So I’d tell him the truth, the yeah— yeah I was catchin’ pussy just fine. Never did tell him that I was gettin’ off in my buddies’ mouths sometimes, too. Man, he would’a lost his _shit_ if he knew that.”

And it’s like Bucky senses the intensity of Steve staring slack-jawed at him, because he pauses his deep thinking, looks back at him. Bucky’s eyes are bloodshot and his pupils are dilated, but the part that isn’t black or white or red is a stunning ring of icy blue, and the hue looks surreal in the dim lighting of his bedroom.

He’s staring right at Steve when he goes on, voice dark and undeniably sexy, “but it’s not like I could say to him— hey Pops, there’s lots’a ways to _get your dick wet_ , yanno.”

One of Bucky’s hands comes out of absolutely nowhere and dusts an eyelash from Steve’s cheek, lingering, and then disappearing to wherever it came from in the first place.

“ _Lots’a_ ways,” Bucky repeats, quieter this time. “Couldn’t say that to him— but I can say that to _you_. Can’t I, Stevie?”

Steve’s breath catches tangibly in his throat, and he knows for a fact that the sound of it is audible to them both. He doesn’t _think_ he’s drooling but there’s really no way to be sure.

“What?” Bucky asks, chuckling low, which is how Steve realizes he’s staring _too_ much.

“Shit— just. Your _eyes_ , bro.”

It’s not until Steve realizes that Bucky’s lips haven’t moved that he understands _he_ was the one that just said that. He doesn’t let himself freak out, though; dudes probably say shit like that to each other all the time, in a dozen different and completely platonic ways.

The edges of Bucky’s eyes wrinkle just the tiniest bit when he smiles back, knowingly, but he doesn’t give Steve a verbal response.

“So,” Bucky says instead, “how ‘bout tits?”

Bucky adjusts his body a little bit as he talks, as he changes the subject starkly and abruptly. He stays angled towards Steve but he pulls back his own shoulders, like he’s trying to stretch his back out. The movement pushes Bucky’s chest up and _out_ , and for the first time tonight Steve really lets himself notice the way Bucky’s tight white t-shirt hugs his pecs— his huge, NCAA Division I pecs.

“Yes,” Steve blurts. Yes, to tits.

Bucky’s laughter at the naked earnestness of Steve’s answer is a little loud, the kind that wouldn’t have been so robust if they weren’t high off their asses.

“Damn,” he chuckles, “I bet you’re a hair trigger kinda dude— ain’tcha, Rogers? Young, eager guy like you can probably shoot off two or three times if someone’s being good enough for ya, huh?”

It doesn't occur to Steve to actually respond, to confirm, but it also doesn’t escape his notice the way that Bucky says ‘someone’ instead of ‘some _girl’_.

“Y’like _big_ tits? Or the cute, little ones that just fit in your hands?”

Steve tries to think about the question. It’s hard. He doesn’t know what to do with his eyeballs, so he looks down at Bucky’s chest.

“Big,” he answers.

There’s at least a five second period of silence before Steve realizes he should probably drag his eyes back up.

“Big, huh?” Bucky repeats with a smile. “Yeah, big can be good… but I’m thinking that don’t really matter much with you, do it?” He arches an eyebrow at Steve, and there’s that _knowing_ _look_ again. “‘Cause you’re an ass man, ain’tcha?”

Steve, just. He nods. Steve nods, and Bucky’s grin grows.

“I figured. Could tell that, just lookin’ at ya.”

For the second time that night Bucky fucking _winks_ at him, and then there’s a moment where he looks away to take another swig from his water bottle. Steve remains immobile the entire time. Something about this moment feels life-changing. He never wants to move again.

Bucky drinks up and then settles himself against the wall again, and how the fuck is his head even _closer_ to Steve’s? They’re so close now that Steve can feel Bucky’s breath on his face, and his mind sluggishly reels back to what already feels like hours ago— to the way that Bucky’s lips had been so damn warm against his own.

And then it’s those _lips_ again— of course— and they’re moving, speaking more words for Steve to hear.

“You ever fucked a chick in the ass before?”

In the back of his hazy mind Steve is aware that he should be shocked or embarrassed when he tells the truth and answers “no,” because he’s lied to _loads_ of guys before about girls letting him fuck their backdoor but— for some reason— he’s not lying to Bucky.

“No?” Bucky repeats, no hint of surprise in his voice. “Well, s’nice. Can feel real fucking nice for _everyone_...if you catch my drift.”

And Steve _does_ catch it— but only just barely, because right now he’s too busy feeling inexplicably disappointed as Bucky pulls his head back, straightens his body out so his face is no longer close and angled towards Steve’s. The disappointment doesn’t last long. He watches as Bucky continues to adjust until his back is flat against the wall, his jean-clad thighs spreading across the bed even more. The knee that was supporting Steve’s thigh is no longer doing so, because now it is pressed into Steve’s cock.

“ _But_ ,” Bucky drawls, and then stops speaking completely. His next actions are the single most surreal and possibly erotic moment that Steve has ever experienced in his life.

First, Bucky grins, cocky and _handsome_ and definitely high. He looks at Steve like he’s about to share the _best_ news with him and is eager to see Steve’s reaction.

Second, Bucky moves his hands down his own stomach towards his jeans and then, _slowly_ —

“But... if you’re gonna _experiment_ , I’m thinkin’ that a suckjob is a better place to start.”

— he unbuckles his belt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come see our work on tumblr! [@the1918](https://the1918.tumblr.com/) and [@howdoyousleep3](https://howdoyousleep3.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

_Experiment_.

That’s what Bucky had called this. An _experiment_.

People experiment all the time in college, right? The first time Steve’s frat had made Trash Can Punch, it had been an _experiment_ (one that they didn’t repeat). The first time that he’d made out with a girl with a tongue piercing, it had been— shit, shit-fuck, now he’s imagining Lucky Bucky Barnes with a tongue piercing and—

If Steve does this, it will just be an experiment. It won’t mean that he’s _gay_. Bucky isn’t gay, after all; he’d just said so, just told Steve very convincingly that he likes to fuck girls and eat them out. And _Steve_ likes girls, is actually quite talented at eating pussy he thinks, so if Bucky isn’t gay and Steve isn’t gay, then…

Then how would Steve putting Bucky’s dick in his mouth be _gay_?

“Rogers,” Bucky says, breaking Steve’s thoughts, “look at me.”

Steve tries to shake the low-key existential crisis from his brain and looks up at Bucky’s face— which is how he realizes that he hadn’t been looking at Bucky’s face before but had instead been looking at Bucky’s crotch, his open belt, his newly-undone button and zipper and what looks like tight black briefs.

“‘Sup?” Steve says, extremely way too casually, looking at Bucky’s stubbled face and his dark eyes like the other dude isn’t two seconds from whipping his dick out on Steve’s bed.

Bucky looks right at him and asks, “This okay?” and Steve can hear the unspoken implication that if Steve says _“no”_ , Bucky will zip up and buckle up and head out, no harsh feelings.

Steve doesn’t want to say _“no”_ , so he says what he wants to say instead which is—

“Yeah. Yeah, bro. ‘S’all good.”

Bucky’s lips quirk into an amused smile and his pause lasts only a few beats more before he’s hooking his thumbs into his own waistband, holding his hips off the mattress a bit so he can start to work his jeans and briefs down his thighs.

“ _All_ good, huh?” he says. “Well, I sure hope so… _bro_.” And Steve knows that Bucky is teasing him with the last word and why is that so hot? But he doesn’t have any time to think about it because. Because.

Because Bucky’s dick is— _shit_ , it’s nice. It’s thick and veiny and uncut, which Steve thinks is pretty rad. It’s a little bit bigger than Steve’s own cock. In the back of his mind Steve is trying to think if he’s always had opinions about what constitutes a _nice dick_ or if this is new, considering if there might have been some sort of subtle clue hidden in all those times he was watching totally-regular-straight porn and wondering if anyone ever made videos from the chick’s point-of-view.

Bucky Barnes has his really very nice dick out in Steve’s bedroom. He’s on Steve’s bed. It’s exhilarating and new and foreigh but Steve’s mind immediately tries to visit something more familiar, tries to think about what it is he usually does any other time a human being whips their genitals out while sitting on his mattress. He tries to think of what he would do if this were a girl, and if it were a girl Steve would be trying to get her all worked up and feeling a certain kind of way, he’d be putting on smooth music he’d— shit, should he put on some music? Does Bucky like Jack Johnson? Maybe he’s more of a Dave Matthews dude.

“Stop thinkin’, Stevie. C’mere.”

So Steve decides against music. Putting on a suitable playlist would require getting up and finding his phone instead of doing what Bucky is gesturing for him to do, what Steve wants to do, which is to crawl in closer so that’s what is doing and— does Bucky want him to sit in his lap? He’s on his knees and kneeling between Bucky’s thighs right now and trying to figure where his body is supposed to go when Bucky grabs the back of his neck and pulls Steve down for what is easily the most mind-blowing kiss Steve has ever received in his life.

Steve had not considered that giving another dude a suckjob might also include making out with said dude but now that he’s doing it, it really does make a lot of sense. Bucky sucks Steve’s bottom lip into his mouth in a filthy wet way that makes Steve’s groan and Bucky wastes no time using the opportunity to lick into Steve’s mouth. Steve thinks Bucky is almost showing him exactly how he likes to have his dick blown. Steve tries hard to take mental notes. It’s nothing like the shotgun-kiss from earlier because now there’s so much more intent behind it, feels like there is a goal at hand, like Bucky is trying to loosen Steve’s nerves with his tongue and his lips while he gets Steve’s mouth ready to suck his cock.

“Nurgh,” Steve vocalizes, upon Bucky pulling away and leaving Steve’s lungs bereft of oxygen.

Now that Bucky isn’t kissing him anymore Steve realizes that he’s still kneeling awkwardly on the mattress between Bucky’s legs, which means that when he’s looking at Bucky he’s looking down and from this angle Steve can see the dark brown length of his eyelashes, the spit-slick shine of his red lower lip, and below all of that— the proud jut of Bucky’s hard cock where it’s pointed towards his navel, the heavy look of his balls where the waistband of his briefs is tucked under them.

It’s only because Steve is staring downward that he notices Bucky reach a hand out, and before he can consider where that hand is headed it’s cupping the outline of Steve’s very hard cock, grabbing him through his shorts and boxers and drawing a noise from Steve that is so feminine and small it’s _embarrassing_.

“You ever had another guy’s dick in your hand, Stevie?”

But Steve can’t focus on any embarrassing noises he’s making, not when Bucky is taking Steve’s wrist in a circle of his own fingers and guiding his hand to Bucky’s cock. Steve’s arm goes without protest as he’s shakes his head in response to the question— _nope, never jerked another bro off before_ — and he’s surprised to find how natural it feels to close his hand around the shaft and find the both new and familiar sensation of holding a dick in his hand.

“Oh,” is all Steve says.

Bucky’s cock is warm in his hand and very, very hard. Something inside Steve is immediately flattered by the idea that Bucky is that hard for _him_ and he’s surprising himself with the way he’s preening inwardly at the thought, feeling some bizarre kind of confidence all of a sudden.

Bucky’s hand covers Steve’s own, still immobile where it’s gripping the other dude’s dick. When Bucky closes his fist around it Steve can’t help but admire the way Bucky’s big athlete palms look when overlapping Steve’s. His brain is thinking about how Bucky’s hands must look when they’re covering the broad and textured expanse of a football, but Steve’s not thinking about it for too long because Bucky is sliding their joined hands downward in a way that tugs back Bucky’s foreskin and reveal the wet, purpling tip and—

 _Huh_ , Steve thinks, as his belly makes contact with the mattress between Bucky’s thighs. When had Steve’s body decided that his face should be three inches from Bucky’s dick?

“Huh,” Bucky—now above him—echoes. “Look at that. Ain’t nearly as shy as I took you for. Damn, Rogers…”

And then Bucky is using their combined hands to guide his cock outward while he uses his other hand to push down on the back of Steve’s head, and Steve’s mouth opens wide on instinct.

“...I think you are gonna _love_ this.”

Dicks taste salty. It’s the taste of pre-come and Steve knows that part already, because like any other regular dude he’s licked his own slickness from his fingers before. So the taste may not come as a surprise to him but the way his lips want so badly to wrap around the head of Bucky’s cock _is_ , takes Steve a little off-guard, but the hand on the back of his skull feels good and grounding so none of that really bothers him right now.

“Open up— _yeah_ , there ya go. Shit, Steve, feel damn good already.”

Steve… Steve isn’t sure that he’s ever been, like— _praised_ before, at least not for sex stuff. It’s a new experience, and one that makes his own hard dick twitch in his pants and his hips press down into the mattress in search of relief, but he tries to keep his focus on his mouth as he lets it sink down over the velvet-hot shaft between his lips. He does it for what feels like a mile but is probably less than two inches before, _oh_ , the hand on the back of his head is _in his hair now_ and it’s telling him what to do, pulling him back and then pushing him back down until he’s sinking just a little bit further.

“Gotta tuck those teeth away, Rogers. More lip, more— _ohh_ there ya go, yeah, more’a that, _shit.”_

Steve likes to think he does well with constructive criticism and he suddenly feels a little bit perfect when he listens to Bucky and then adjusts, covers his teeth with his lips the way he’s seen girls do when they blow him. He’s starting to really get why Bucky said he’s got dick-sucking-lips when the pressure on the back of his head increases and he rises to the challenge, trying to take in more but finding too much friction to sink down comfortably any further.

“Here, pull— off, yeah, hold up,” and then Steve hears the absolutely obscene sound of Bucky spitting into his own hand, sees Bucky bring it back down to slather an impressive amount of saliva around the base and give himself a few firm pumps. “There we go, c’mon, back on it. _Know you like it._ ”

Steve’s hips fuck against the mattress a little bit when he hears Bucky talk to him like that, and he listens when the other man urges him to hold the base, to _“jerk off what your mouth can’t suck”._ He’s thinks he’s almost found a groove when Bucky starts to lay on the praise again, and he realizes that he’s moaning around the dick in his mouth, registers that the vibration of it might actually feel really good for Bucky and Steve’s skin breaks out in goosebumps at the noises of approval his football idol is making.

“There ya go, _yeah_ —gettin’ better with the teeth stuff already, huh?”

And that— shit, Steve is here and he finds that he is fucking _living for that shit_ , doesn’t even care what that means about him because he’s too focused on doubling down his efforts, hand suddenly flying over the base of Bucky’s cock while his mouth tries to impale his skull on it, slurping noises filling the room and—

“ _Woah_ , hey! Careful Rogers. Don’t gotta choke yourself on my dick just yet, here. Hang out. Take a breather.”

Steve is furiously disappointed in himself and his gag reflex, embarrassed by the way Bucky had to pull his head back to keep him from aspirating on his own spit when he had just been doing so _good_. He takes a few steadying breaths, as instructed, looking down at the cock in his hand and glaring at it like it’s an ally that’s suddenly betrayed him. But, no—he reminds himself—this disaster was his own damn fault, and then Steve feels bad. He gives the head of the dick an apologetic lick. It might be a suckle.

The hand in Steve’s hair has softened its grip but it still has his head suspended just a few inches above Bucky’s slobbery erection. The other man pries Steve’s fingers off and replaces the hand with his own, nudges Steve’s head _down_ , says, “gonna jerk myself while you suck on my balls, Rogers, _c’mon.”_

Steve has apparently reached the point in the night where he no longer has to hear Bucky say everything twice. He can’t remember the last time a girl really played with his nuts but he feels like it’s probably intuitive, knows what he likes himself, feels good about his decision to lave his tongue over Bucky’s balls to get them wet with spit before trying to suck one into his mouth, carefully, because _“teeth— uh huh, you know the drill.”_

He finds that he takes to liking a little bit of ball worship just as much as he likes having Bucky’s dick on his tongue, likes the way Bucky’s hand urges him to press his face in to fully enjoy the experience. Steve is really _feeling_ himself when Bucky starts to pile on the praise again in that way that gets his dick rutting against mattress again, humping his own bed like a dog with a nice-looking leg

“There ya go, _shit_. Not gonna say you’re a natural but— _fuck_ yeah— you sure got spirit, dontcha? God _damn_.”

Steve kind of really likes the lewd sound of Bucky’s hand squelching with the spit covering his own cock. He lets the wet ball fall out of his mouth, plucks a stray hair from his tongue, leans back to admire the sight. Bucky apparently takes his keen interest for what it is because then he’s nudging his dick back towards Steve’s lips with a little bit of cooing, with a, _“Mhmm, there it is, c’mon and take it back,_ fuck _.”_

Time has definitely started to melt a little, so Steve doesn’t know how long he spends with his mouth once again wrapped around Bucky’s cock— sliding in and out, slipping up and down in a way that he’s actually starting to get pretty great at— when suddenly there are fingertips pressing against the stretched outside of Steve’s lips. Steve has no idea why they’re there but he feels like he should open his mouth a little wider so he does, lets Bucky push those two fingers into Steve’s mouth alongside his cock. Bucky is a good dude about it, tells Steve how good he is for it, how he’s _“takin’ it so nice,”_ waits until they’re drenched with Steve’s spit before sliding them back out.

“C’mere, get—pop your ass up. Like that. Gonna help you out now, okay?”

And Steve is just real fucking good at taking direction by this point, practically a damn solider, so he does as he’s told and gets his knees under himself a little to help lift his ass in the air. Bucky growls, uses the hand that’s still on the back of Steve’s head to press him down some, fucks up into his mouth once like he just can’t help it, and Steve—

—Steve is so good he _doesn’t even fucking gag_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky swears, and Steve can hear the surprised laughter in his voice. “Look at _you_ , you goddamn champ. Shit, fucking proud ‘a you Rogers, here, ass— _yeah_ , c’mon, try’na show you somethin’.”

Bucky has yet to lead Steve astray tonight, has yet to introduce him to anything that Steve did not end up finding really quite agreeable, so he’s not even nervous when Bucky stuffs his hand down the back of Steve’s shorts, over his boxers. He honestly doesn't think twice about any of it until two of Bucky’s fingers are _pressing down against Steve’s asshole_. The cotton that separates it is apparently thin enough that Steve can immediately feel the tell-tale wet, that tiny bit of slickness that says these two fingers are the ones that were only just in Steve’s mouth.

“God, eager thing like you would just _love_ havin’ couple’a fingers inside’a you. Gettin’ something in your ass always makes suckin’ cock better,” and Steve must have a really done a bang-up job when he was getting those fingers wet because the fabric of his boxers is practically soaked, lets him _feel_ the pads of Bucky’s fingertips against that tense pucker— definitely feels it when Bucky lifts them just a inch and then _smacks_ the tips back down against his hole. “Next time, Rogers.”

Steve— Steve has never even considered that someone playing with his asshole could actually be pleasurable. It makes _sense,_ given that some chicks and gay dudes like to get it up the ass, and Steve probably understood all of that in theory, but in no universe or alternate dimension did Steve _ever_ think that Bucky Barnes rubbing his wet boxers into his asshole while Steve sucked his cock would make him moan like a whore and rut his dick down into the sheets so hard and so fast that it gets the whole bed frame moving.

“Fuckin’ _knew_ it, knew this would get’chu,” Bucky teases, works his fingers in circles twice as fast while he holds Steve’s head down onto his cock and tells him to, “fuck the bed, _yeah_ , wish you were kneelin’ and I could reach down, pump a little pussy toy on your dick.”

It’s that last bit that makes Steve feel like he’s coming already, makes him howl out, but then Bucky pulls his fingers tight in Steve’s hair on just the wrong side of painful and it makes Steve groan and sputter, makes his orgasm back right the fuck up.

He’s irritated about not getting to come but not as much as he’s concerned when Bucky is pulling him off of his cock completely. Steve’s immediate thought is that he’s fucked up. He goes as he’s made to but gives Bucky a panicked look, body trembling a little as he feels the fingers withdraw from his shorts. He makes eye contact with Bucky for the first time since he started blowing him in this dark room and drools out, worried, “‘S not good?” ~~~~

Before he has even the chance to wipe the back of his hand over his slick mouth Bucky is tugging on said hand, pulling him forward, but forward means—

“ _C’mere_ , big guy up and— _there ya go_ , sit right up here, get nice and close.”

That means he has no choice but to slip and bump knees and somehow land in Bucky’s lap, his own thighs looking lithe and slim sitting atop Bucky’s powerhouse ones. The way Bucky just…just moved him where he wanted, just pulled Steve and manhandled him like a chick makes his next exhale come out a little whiny. It clicks in his brain a bit, why ladies want him to be a little rough sometimes with a little slapping or choking, because his gut is molten hot with just one pull and squeeze.

Would he let Bucky choke him, slap him in the face?

He lets out another whine at the thought, akin to a whimper, and Bucky’s hands squeeze _tight_ at his waist, hands slipping under his shirt, before they’re sliding up to cup his jaw.

“ _Oh baby,_ s’good so good,” Bucky purrs into his mouth, hips pumping up in slow pulses, physically teasing Steve into joining him. He feels relief, expresses this relief, his hands coming up to grapple at the collar of Bucky’s shirt as the athlete dips his tongue into Steve’s mouth. Steve loves kissing, has always enjoyed handsy makeout sessions as foreplay, enjoys the way he and another person can work together and give and take. He loves how intimate it can be and how wet it can be, the way someone else’s tongue feels against his own, in his mouth, on his lips.

Steve thinks Bucky might have the nicest mouth he’s ever gotten his own on. He’s been with pushy girls, girls who command some of their give and take, but Bucky has a fat bottom lip and knows how to suck on Steve’s tongue and Steve just wants to _follow._

“Y’so good, Stevie, gotta sweet mouth. Can’t wait to keep havin’ you use it on me, gonna get real good at suckin’ cock aren’t ya?”

He’s— _oh_ he’s—they’re gonna do this again? Steve’s head spins at that thought for so many reasons, all surrounding what this means if he goes to suck dick again or if Bucky is going to do that thing with his fingers on his asshole or—

“Can hear you thinkin’. Don’t like it right now, shouldn’t be thinkin’. Should be squirmin’ and moanin’ and _touching_ ,” Bucky mumbles into his mouth, _Steve digs Bucky’s mouth_ , and then Bucky’s hands are leaving his face and running down to his waist, _his ass._ They feel, _oh_ they feel good, pleasurable. It leaves Steve gasping, rolling his hips but being cognizant of Bucky’s dick out and against his shirt, the sin of some exposed stomach. Bucky’s hands are big, so capable, good for grabbing ass and for catching game-winning interceptions.

Steve is equally impressed with both.

 _“Shit,_ Rogers you got yourself quite the peach here, don’t ya? You’ve probably never let anyone put their dick in it n’that’s a worse shame than this mouth not gettin’ one...”

Maybe Steve should be freaking out about the sudden thought of a dick being inside his ass but he’s distracted because Steve has never had anyone compliment his ass in such a way and he can’t help but feel a little… _sweet_? Is that what this is? Like he feels when he blushes when he gets a round of high fives from the boys for a sick touchdown pass in flag football or that one time he went an entire round of Team Death Match on Call of Duty without dying and he and his buddies creamed the competition. He’s proud of his ass in the same way in this scenario but this kind of compliment has him a little more breathless, makes him move forward to press their mouths sloppily together.

“And this waist? _Shit, Rogers,_ ” Bucky groans, his hands moving up to knead and squeeze tight at Steve’s sides, “Like a little lady, ain’t ya?”

Steve shouts. It’s a little noise, aggravatingly a feminine one to tie right into Bucky’s accusation, but the way Bucky’s hands feel almost _encircling_ his entire waist and hearing those words in that gruff voice? Steve feels like he has no choice but to make such a noise. It makes him want Bucky’s dick back in his mouth, makes him want to mouth and slurp at his balls some, makes him want to hear more sweet words even though he literally just got some. 

What the fuck is going on?

Steve doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to get wrapped up in his head like he so easily can sometimes, especially in Calc class. But he isn’t sitting in Calc right now. He’s sitting in the lap of Lucky Bucky, wiggling, whimpering like a bitch in heat as he practically begs for kisses on the other man’s lips.

“Take your dick out, Stevie, come on.”

The command is pressed into his lips, against his chin, Bucky giving him kisses and bites— _oh god, nibbles—_ on his jawline as his hands still dig into his sides, his waist. Steve finds himself tilting his head to the left, gives Bucky more room to work with because _shit_ that’s nice, _that’s nice_. How has he never done this? Has he done this to a girl? Why hasn’t a girl done this to him?

“Dick, Rogers let’s go. Wanna show you somethin’ else.”

Ignoring the way the back of his neck burns at the command coupled with another tight nip at his ear, his hands leave Bucky’s neck and go for the button and fly of his own shorts. He only has the few seconds he fumbles with his clothing, his waistbands, to focus on the fact that Bucky is about to see his dick, is probably going to touch his dick. He doesn’t know how to feel about his urge to impress the other man, the burn of hoping Bucky likes what he sees.

He’s never cared about whether or not a girl liked his dick; he has always known it’s a crowd pleaser. He’s never felt more pressure to show up than with this crowd of one though.

The cool air hits his dick for maybe three seconds before it’s engulfed in heat once more and—

 _Fuck,_ Bucky is touching his dick. Bucky has his hand on his dick.

“Look at that, Rogers. This dick is as pretty as you are _shit_ , baby.” There’s that word again— _baby._ He likes that word. He likes the way it sounds in his ears, the way it bounces around his brain like a Beer Pong ball, the way Bucky’s lips look when they purr it out. He likes Bucky calling him something he is so used to referring to women as.

Bucky’s fingers are different from anything he’s ever felt. They aren’t a girl’s, tentative and slim, and they aren’t quite his own, familiar and albeit a little rough. They are somewhere in between the two, thick and capable yet gentle and firm and it knocks the fucking wind out of Steve’s lungs when Bucky makes a fist and tugs.

 _“Oh_ , oh f-fuck,” Steve stutters out, all hot air as he inadvertently presses his forehead to Bucky’s in a jerky movement as he looks down. He is in no way prepared for the way his dick looks like in a dude’s hand, _in Bucky’s hand_ , is also not prepared for the way his everything reacts.

This shit is dope and Steve thinks that’s an understatement.

Steve doesn’t know if he’s seen anything hotter than this. Bucky’s hands are big but Steve doesn’t quite realize how big they are until he’s got Steve’s dick in his fist. Bucky takes a few strokes, some time, to get acquainted with his cock, much to Steve’s unfamiliar delight, and makes his deepest noise yet when they both watch a drop ~~or seven~~ of his own precome leak from the tip.

He thinks it’s mortifying, feels a bit like an easy slut, but Bucky marvels, “Ain’t that a sight, _goddamn_ ,” and tugs a bit more on his cock. Steve doesn’t say anything in response, almost entirely useless at this point, but he watches as Bucky touches his dick, strokes him off, and it makes his hips twitch, makes him sound like he can’t keep his head above water.

His knees dig hard into the mattress, tries his hardest to not sound like he needs to be resuscitated, but he watches as Bucky opens his palm and gruffs out, “ _Spit.”_

Spit? Like… _spit_? Into what? Bucky’s hand? Why would—

“Stick with me, Stevie come on now— _Spit._ Doesn’t need to be anything aggressive like you see in awful porn; just give me something to work with here.”

Bucky is still as calm as he has been throughout this entire ordeal, this night that feels simultaneously forever but not long enough, but there is an edge to his voice now, a bite to his actions. He’s being patient with Steve but it seems his own dick is at the forefront of his mind now that he’s seen Steve’s, now that he’s sucked Bucky’s cock, now that he’s here in his lap.

Steve’s brain short-circuits the connection that in situations such as this, people tend to get off, tend to make each other come, and that’s what’s happening here, that’s what’s going to happen. Bucky and Steve are going to—

He manages to push a glob of spit from his mouth and into Bucky’s hand, watches it fall and barely hit the football player's palm. Both he and Bucky make a noise, his a whimper as he tries to pump his hips, _his dick,_ and Bucky’s is another one of those damned groans. Steve’s mind runs, spins, tilts and all he can manage to say as Bucky grabs _both of their dicks in one hand is_ —

“You’re gonna make me come.”

Bucky stills.

“You’re gonna—? I’m not—”

“No! No, no you’re—you’re gonna make _us_ come, you’re gonna—”

Bucky’s hand moves a few seconds later, a bark of laughter bitten into his chin in realization of what Steve had _meant_ and not what he had _said_.

“Yeah, Rogers—I’m gonna make us come.”

 _Fuck._ Fuck, okay yeah. His dick is touching Bucky’s, is encased in a meaty palm and is just fucking pressed up right there against Bucky’s. It’s hot and slick and wet and _fuck_ it’s so good, it’s so fucking good, Steve can’t keep his wits about him. Bucky’s grip is tight, his own spit coating their dicks as if they even needed it, as if Steve wasn’t leaking like a faucet already.

“Gotta breathe, kid. _Breathe,_ ” Bucky whispers in Steve’s ear, his head basically having fallen onto a broad shoulder, eyes still downcast. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t breathing, didn’t want a single thing to take away from everything he is feeling, would rather _die_ than not experience this in the fullest. He heaves in a few hefty breaths, cups his hands unintentionally around the column of Bucky’s throat.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Steve hisses, words going desperate and turning into an almost hysterical groan, one that shakes his chest. Bucky’s fist is slow to move at first, slow sensual pumps, trying to get the hang of jacking off two dicks in one hand, as if Bucky needs practice. His fingers around Bucky’s neck dig into the hair there and _fuck,_ he was right—Bucky’s hair is so fucking soft. It makes Steve wonder what other places on Bucky’s body are soft.

He barely notices Bucky’s other hand, _the one not wrapped around both of their dicks,_ digging into his hip, kneading at his ass. It’s yanking, pulling at Steve’s hip as if Bucky wants him to move some, so he does what feels right and rolls his hips a little. Just like kissing, he feels the two of them work together, give and take to make them both feel so fucking good. This moment is what will pop into Steve’s mind any time he hears the word _teamwork._

“Bring that mouth back over here, c’mon,” Bucky breathes into his jaw but Steve wants to keep watching the other dude’s fist fuck over their dicks, _fuck_ Bucky’s cock is touching his own, _shit._ Steve’s hips are twitching still, little pumps in time with Bucky’s hand, and he tears his head away and turns blindly with a sad little noise.

 _Jesus Christ_ , Bucky has such a nice mouth. It makes his balls ache ( _oh god_ , are their balls touching too?), makes his gut turn, having Bucky’s hand on his dick and his tongue in his mouth. Steve can barely keep up, Bucky’s experience with this whole dude thing glaringly obvious compared to Steve’s own. He keeps his mouth open, keeps it moving, presses his tongue forward to slide against Bucky’s own in a movement that sends sparks down his spine.

He isn’t sure he’s doing anything right, if Bucky likes kissing him until the brunette is pulling back with something short of a growl.

“ _Fuck,_ Rogers bet you eat pussy like a champ with this mouth.You make ‘em scream with that tongue? Huh?”

The last thing Steve needed Bucky to bring up in this moment was pussy. His brain doesn’t know what to think about now, split in two entirely opposite directions. All he wants to focus on and think about is the way Bucky’s fist pumps hard over the two of them together, the way he’s a little uncomfortable with how much he digs the sound of his spit on their cocks. But now this? _Pussy_? Even Bucky saying the word “pussy” has Steve moaning, has his fingers digging into chestnut hair and tugging.

“ _Yeah,_ how could you not love eatin’ pussy? You love it, right?” Steve does.

“ _Uh-huh_ ,” Steve whines, nods his head against Bucky’s forehead before smearing his lips messily against his stubbly chin, pulling his eyes up to look at Bucky’s own. The fist around them tightens some more, makes Steve whimper through his teeth.

“Fuck, you’d look so sweet with your face between a broad’s legs. I’d love to see that, d’love to watch this mouth work a pussy over,” and then Bucky’s _licking_ into his mouth, tongue slipping across his bottom lip, straight up across both lips and Steve can’t help that he thinks about two things: Bucky showing him how he himself eats a pussy but _against his own lips_ and Bucky fucking watching Steve eating a chick out.

“ _Ohh,”_ is all Steve can spout out in response, his hands slipping back down to Bucky’s neck, his chest. Bucky’s fist is _moving_ and he can’t help but look down, he wants to look down _(??)_ , wants to see their cocks hot together but wants to keep thinking about Bucky laying in bed with him and a girl.

“Ah Jesus, Stevie I could take her mouth and she could have yours. Yeah? Wanna see me fuck a girl’s mouth while you make her come like the fuckin’ stud you are? Huh?” Steve doesn’t even need to think.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , yeah shit...yeah, dude yeah I’d—”

Steve doesn’t even know what he’s about to say, his knees digging into the mattress with vigor, the headboard smacking against the wall for the second time that night. He’s losing his rhythm and feels like he’s sprinting to a finish line, can’t take his eyes off of Bucky’s steel-blue ones. It must feel like he’s trying to get away, it even feels that hysterical to Steve, because Bucky lurches forward a bit, wraps his spare arm tight around Steve’s waist.

“Keep her lil’ pussy busy while I fuck her mouth, _god_ , you’d be so sweet like that, wouldn’t you? So sweet for me?”

“Fuck, _uh-huh_ yeah so fuckin’ sweet, so sweet.” He’d be anything Bucky wanted him to be if he asked. Bucky wants sweet he’s got it; Steve will do it for him.

“Fuck yeah you would, so sweet for me, baby,” and Bucky’s voice changes, alters, gets a little breathless, hand stutters over their cocks and gets a little messy. Steve wants to toss his head back and shout to the ceiling at hearing Bucky call him “baby” again. He loves it so much, loves being someone else’s baby, loves how it makes him want to blush and kiss Bucky on the cheek.

Steve Rogers doesn’t even know who he is anymore.

Bucky’s mouth mashes into his own, his breathing punched out with every roll of Steve’s hips, every downstroke of his hand. He’s panting into Steve’s mouth, heavy and wet, and Steve knows what this is, feels it himself.

_They’re going to come._

Bucky is going to come and Steve is going to come and they’ll come together and Steve will get to _see_ Bucky’s come and that is _not_ something he ever knew he wanted to see. He thinks Bucky notices it too, makes his own whiny noise that sounds nothing like Steve’s, presses a line of slippery kisses up Steve’s cheek to his ear.

“Y’think she’d like to sit back and watch me get my mouth on _your_ pussy?”

_Steve is going to come._

“M’gonna—! Oh shit!”

“ _Shit yeah_ , me too come on, come on, Steve lemme see you blow that pretty load all fuckin’ over me.”

“I’m— _oh fuck—_ ’m gonna nut, Buck I’m—”

Steve enjoys orgasms. Who doesn’t? He likes the waves of pleasure, tends to be a little loud, enjoys seeing someone else come too, but this orgasm isn’t like anything he’s ever experienced in his life. He almost panics when he feels his balls draw tight ( _fuck,_ their balls are still touching), gasps when he gets caught up in that last second before he crashes over that cliff.

He feels his fingers dig into Bucky’s hair, can tell that Bucky’s mouth is moving against the side of his face, whether it be from something that resembles kisses or from speaking is lost on Steve. He is far too focused on letting himself feel and letting someone be in almost total control of his own orgasm. He can’t stop making noises, ones that sound like he’s choking, is sure he’s saying Bucky’s name, can feel his own fucking come slick up Bucky’s hand even more.

He thinks Bucky says something about him coming, but like everything else it’s lost on Steve. His hips are still pulsing, as his his cock, hands unable to choose one spot on Bucky’s body to lock onto, manages to look down between their bodies just in time to—

“ _Fuck yeah—”_

See Bucky come. The noise Steve makes sounds like one that indicates he’s in pain but the only pain he feels is never having let a guy give him a handjob before. He’s almost worried he’s going to come again when he hears the noise Bucky makes, a deep one but one that sounds a little like a sob, one that Steve wants to soothe with a kiss or some shit. Steve’s orgasm is one that is long, so long, one that he gets to enjoy right alongside Bucky.

“ _Bucky_ , god I’m still— _fuck._ ”

The other man chuckles into the hinge of Steve’s jaw in response, a noise a mixture of disbelief and his own pleasure. The arm around his waist gets uncomfortably yet perfectly tight, Bucky taking the opportunity to press his own hips up, to practically lift Steve in pulses as he lets his orgasm take him away a bit. His hand is still moving, still pumping wetly over the two of them, but they are long tugs, ones that milk the two of them together, _together._ The noises are filthy and wet, just like the ones that push him over the edge when he watches porn.

Bucky’s groans in his ear make his spine tingle, make him tip his head down and look between their bodies.

Steve has come on his dick. It’s Bucky’s come. Mostly.

This is fine.

The room around them— the spaces beyond Bucky’s mouth and Bucky’s skin— slowly comes back into Steve’s awareness. It is a room. It’s _Steve’s_ room, and he’s in Bucky’s lap. This is his room and it’s the same room where Steve just sucked a dude’s cock and kinda ate his balls too and this— this is the room where Lucky Bucky Barnes called him _“sweet”_ and called him _“baby”_ and those things made Steve feel really, really good and then his personal hero jerked them both off until they came and now Steve is _looking down at their come_ and their softening dicks and realizing that he doesn’t know where his come starts and Bucky’s come ends.

This is. This is fine.

Steve can feel Bucky’s gravelly chuckle before he hears it. The larger man’s arm is still around his waist, still pulling them close, but it starts to loosen up as Bucky’s head tilts back and hits the wall with a _thud_.

“Chill out, Rogers,” Bucky laughs. “I just made you come like a fire hose. Enjoy the fuckin’ afterglow.”

Steve faintly registers that he must still be a little bit high because he’s reeling but he’s not _totally_ freaking out, all things considered. And Bucky is, just… _cool_. As ever. Steve should be cool, too. Steve should enjoy the afterglow like Bucky says he should.

“But, uh, hey— not that I’m not really likin’ having you in my lap an’ all, but…”

Steve looks up at Bucky’s face, confused, sees Bucky’s funny little grin and his gesturing glance downwards, follows said glance with his own eyes like he’s going to look down and find literally anything other than two soft cocks and Bucky’s come-coated hand and—

“Oh, shit. Yeah dude, lemme…”

Steve feels like a newborn colt— stumbling, and also holding his open shorts up— when he finally extracts himself from Bucky’s lap and goes to find a towel for them. He wipes off his own dripping dick with one end before handing the towel over to Bucky. Bucky takes it with a roll of his eyes, uses the exact same end of the towel to wipe his hand and his own dick because oh, yeah, that’s _both_ of their come mixed together so who gives a shit.

He’s watching Bucky clean up when it hits him: this was a one-night stand. It’s— it’s Bucky Barnes, for god’s sake. Of course he’s gonna fuck whoever he wants and never see them again. Steve fully intends to sort through all that is implied by the fact that he _doesn’t want to be Barnes’s hit-it-and-quit-it_ but he is one hundred percent positive that he does not want that, wants to hang out with this dude again, preferably in a sexual capacity but he’s open to whatever.

Steve mentally sorts through how to solve this problem as he sits down on the edge of the mattress. Bucky hasn’t said anything since Steve got up. He doesn’t look uncomfortable; the opposite, actually. Bucky is looking at Steve with an amused quirk to his lips like he knows everything that Steve is thinking and is highly interested in whatever Steve is going to do next.

Right. So. Steve just got handsy with someone he met at a party. He wants to see that someone again. Steve makes up his mind, decides to do what he would do any other time he’s found himself in this situation.

“Hey, uh,” he mumbles, “can—can I get your number.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve... you're.
> 
> _You're not straight, bro._
> 
> Thanks for chilling with us on this wild ride. Frat Steve and Jock Bucky will return...
> 
> Come see our work on tumblr! [@the1918](https://the1918.tumblr.com/) and [@howdoyousleep3](https://howdoyousleep3.tumblr.com/)


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